


It's the Great Pumpkin, Quentin Coldwater

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Halloween Challenge, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: On Halloween, the Brakebills maze is transformed into a spooky wonderland, and there’s tricks and treats in store for Eliot and Quentin as they try to find their way out.





	It's the Great Pumpkin, Quentin Coldwater

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Neitherlands Halloween Challenge Fic Swap! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. This fic is for wavesearp, and I hope they enjoy it! Comments and kudos are magic: thanks for reading!

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Quentin Coldwater

By Lexalicious70

 

“Come along, Quentin, it’s time to go!”

 

Quentin started as his copy of _The World in the Walls_ was tugged from his hands. He looked up to see the book float into Eliot’s hand like a tame bird, and then all thoughts of magic and Fillory fled as Quentin took in what Eliot was wearing. It was a resplendent blue suit, the slacks lined with thin pinstripes, the jacket trimmed white, his ascot a deep cranberry. He carried a wooden walking stick tipped with a silver handle and—most incredible of all—a fur-trimmed cape pinned over one shoulder. The material was heavy and matched the color of his ascot exactly. A red pocket square, dotted with small white diamonds, completed the outfit. Quentin finally found his voice.

 

“Go? Where?”

 

Eliot sent the Fillory book floating up the cottage stairs and into the safety of Quentin’s room before he adjusted his ascot.

 

“It’s All Hallows Eve, Q.”

“Yeah . . . I’ve never really been into it? Even when I was a little kid and my dad used to take me out for trick or treat, I never liked being scared. It’s just not my thing.” He tried not to stare at the way Eliot’s tailored trousers showed off his trim hips and long legs, or how they made Quentin wonder what he wore underneath them.

 

“Well, it’s going to be your thing tonight. Come on! Up, up!” Eliot’s long, thin fingers curled around Quentin’s right wrist and tugged him to his feet.

 

“Aren’t we a little old to go trick or treating? And what are you wearing?”

 

Eliot lifted his walking stick and spun in a slow, graceful circle. It flared the cape out, reminding Quentin of his mild superhero fetish, and he shoved those thoughts aside as Eliot smiled at him.

 

“I’m Oscar Wilde!” He lifted both hands and spread his long arms out. “Because much like the man himself, I can resist everything except temptation. Also, we’re not going trick or treating, we’re going to the Haunted Halloween Maze of Magic!”

 

“The Haunted . . . what? Where’s that?”

 

Eliot sighed and gave Quentin a look that suggested the conversation was exhausting him.

 

“All right, it’s just the Brakebills maze, but once a year, Quentin, it turns into a haunted wonderland where almost anything can happen! And it’s tradition that a second year, such as myself, takes a first year, i.e. you, through the maze with the challenge that we find our way out before midnight.”

 

“Oh. Well . . . I don’t have a costume or anything.”

 

Eliot looked him up and down and then tugged on his wrist.

 

“Come with me.”

 

“El, wait—”

“It’s nearly nine already, there’s no time for waiting!” He took Quentin up to his room and opened the closet door while Quentin tucked his Fillory book back into his bookcase. Eliot tossed a pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, sweater vest, and tie onto the bed. “Dress in those, I’ll be right back.” Eliot vanished into the hallway. Quentin started to protest and then rolled his eyes, knowing it would probably be a waste of breath. He changed out of his jeans and sweater and into the clothes Eliot picked out. Eliot returned a moment later with a pair of glasses, which he handed to Quentin. “Put these on.”

 

Quentin opened them, frowning. They were oversized and a terribly outdated tortoiseshell brown, but he slipped them on. The lenses were thin and did nothing to change his vision—they were clearly a prop. Eliot grabbed a comb from the dresser and parted Quentin’s hair before adding a touch of spray.

 

“Voila!” He smiled. “You’re Martin Chatwin!”

 

Quentin looked at himself in the mirror and felt a smile tug at his lips—it wasn’t a horrible likeness. He touched the glasses.

 

“Thanks, El. Where did you get these?” He asked, and Eliot lifted a shoulder.

 

“I did my share of acting back in high school, and it taught me that it never hurts to have props handy. Now come on, we’re going to be late!”  

 

___________________________________________________

 

Once Quentin and Eliot crossed the expanse of lawn Brakebills students called The Sea, points of orange light became visible as the approached the maze. As they got closer, Quentin saw the air around the top of the trimmed shrubbery was filled with magical motes of light that cruised around like fireflies. He smiled—even after a month or so of being a student at Brakebills, seeing real magic still filled his heart with awe. The entrance to the maze was heaped with fat pumpkins and a glowing jack-o-lantern face, its visage built directly into the greenery, boomed eerie laughter as they passed. Quentin jumped like he’d been goosed.

 

“Eliot, I don’t know about this . . .”

“I told you, Q, it’s tradition!” The older boy snagged his wrist and tugged him into the maze. Quentin looked over his shoulder for a last-minute reprieve, but the entrance seemed to vanish and leave nothing behind but a dead end. The orange lights cast shifting shadows across Eliot’s profile as Quentin looked up at him.

 

“What now?”

 

“We choose a direction.” Eliot paused. “Left.”

 

“Why left?”

 

“Because in my experience nothing good ever comes from the right. Follow me.” Eliot turned, his cape flaring, and Quentin tagged after him. As they walked, the hedges on both sides seemed to close in. The path grew narrow, and soon Quentin was bumping into Eliot with nearly every step. Their hands brushed together and Quentin pulled his back.

 

“Sorry.” He murmured, hoping the near-darkness hid his blush. “It’s like the maze is changing.”

 

“It is.” Eliot nodded. “That’s part of the fun, Q.”

 

They turned a corner, then another, and Quentin gave a yawp of surprise and fear as hands made of leaves and twigs reached out from the hedges to grasp at them.

 

“Shit, shit!” He spun and slapped at them as Eliot whacked them with his walking stick. Quentin kicked at one of the hands before stumbling backwards and doing an awkward ballerina-style leap toward Eliot, who caught him.

 

“Easy, Q!” He steadied the younger magician, his hands lingering on Quentin’s shoulders a moment before letting them drop.

 

“I told you this wasn’t my thing!” Quentin eyed the hands as they retreated into the hedges.

 

“You’re doing fine.” Eliot checked his pocket watch. “We’ve got a little under an hour to find the exit. Onward!” Eliot pointed with his walking cane before moving forward. Quentin walked alongside him, his hands shoved up under his arms to avoid any more contact with Eliot. He wondered if the tiny sparks of electric chemistry he felt when he and Eliot touched was magic, Eliot’s natural telekinetic abilities, or his imagination.

 

_No matter what it is_ , Quentin thought, _there’s no way he feels like I do_.

 

Not that his feelings were anything new—he’d been attracted to men before, including a brief, intense crush on his best friend James when they were about fifteen. But that had been James, and it had burned hot and fast before his feelings for Julia had bloomed and consumed the remains. Now his feelings for Julia were nowhere to be found, and Eliot’s closeness and scent—sandalwood, wet cedar, and good tobacco—were filling his senses.

 

A branch snapped behind them, jolting Quentin out of his own head. He glanced over his shoulder, but the path behind them was empty. Crisp leaves crunched under Eliot’s fine black boots. The hair on Quentin’s arms and the nape of his neck stood up all at once, making him feel like an anxious porcupine.

 

“El? I think something is—”

 

A rapid-fire snapping of branches broke behind them, along with a snarl that sounded like thousands of dried leaves being shaken from brittle fall branches. A topiary tiger, its coat a striped mosaic of orange and moisture-darkened leaves, leapt onto the path behind them. It roared, its teeth made from rows of curved thorns, and Eliot grabbed Quentin’s wrist.

 

“Run!”

 

Quentin stumbled as Eliot pulled him along. He sensed they weren’t in any immediate danger and that the tiger was part of the game, but he didn’t especially want it to touch him either. Leaves rustled and hissed under the tiger’s powerful gait, and Eliot yanked on Quentin’s wrist as he turned sharply to the left.

 

“In here!” He pulled Quentin into another corridor and they crouched there, panting, as the tiger bounded past. As his panic faded, Quentin realized his back was pressed to Eliot’s chest. He stepped away, fumbling with his glasses as he felt heat rush to his cheeks. After a moment, he realized he couldn’t see his own hands, or Eliot. The tops of the hedges loomed over their heads and were growing together, plunging the path into darkness. Quentin tried to cast a miniature sun spell, but the magic in the maze prevented such cheats. A sharp yo-yo of anxiety bobbed in his chest.

 

“Eliot? Are you still th—”

 

A rising, warbling wail began to rise all around them, and Quentin raised his hands in self-defense as hooded figures, their eyes flaring red, began to fill the air. They cackled and shrieked, tugging at his sweater, his hair, and snatching at his hands until Quentin’s resolve broke and he bolted, pelting through the darkness with the hooded figures in pursuit.

 

“Shit! Shit, shit! Eliot!” He shouted in between gulping breaths, and then he slammed into something warm and solid. Big, elegant hands touched his shoulders and Quentin realized he’d run nearly full tilt into Eliot. His fingers clutched at Eliot’s jacket, his system flooded with adrenaline. Eliot’s long arms looped around him and pulled him close.

 

“It’s me! Q . . . easy! Hey! It’s me.”

 

Quentin laid his cheek against the soft fabric of Eliot’s shirt as his panic ebbed and he allowed himself  the comfort of Eliot’s embrace. He realized they fit together easily, the top of Quentin’s head tucked under Eliot’s dimpled chin. The shrieks faded away but Eliot’s arms remained around him. Quentin forgot how to breathe as Eliot held him.

 

“Eliot?” He managed at last, and one of Eliot’s arms pulled back and a hand cupped his chin, tilting it upward. The flickering orange lights returned, filling the pathway with an umber glow. Tiny points of light danced in Eliot’s eyes as they circled the two magicians, and Quentin swallowed hard. Eliot’s long fingers brushed his cheek and Quentin leaned into the touch. Eliot’s eyes widened for the pace of a heartbeat, and then his lips brushed against Quentin’s in a gesture that was half a kiss, half a question. Quentin paused, his heart slamming all over again, before touching Eliot’s face and pressing his lips against the taller boy’s in an inexperienced but warm kiss as heat and hope flooded him in equal measure. Eliot broke the kiss and his tongue flicked out briefly to taste his own lips, as if to savor what he’d tasted there.

 

“Why did you do that?” Quentin asked after a moment, and Eliot looked down him.

 

“Because I wanted to. I’ve been wanting to. Why did you?”

 

“For the same reason, I guess?” Quentin hedged.

 

“Then why didn’t you do it sooner?” Eliot smiled as he traced his fingers up and down Quentin’s spine.

 

“I . . . I guess I figured there was no way someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me.”

 

“Someone like me. Mmmmh.” Eliot nodded, looking thoughtful. “And I suppose it didn’t occur to you, Quentin Coldwater, that someone like you is exactly what someone like me needs?”

 

Quentin blinked.

 

“But El, I’m . . .”

 

“Ah ah!” Eliot hushed him. “Yes. I am fully aware that you’re high strung and anxious and filled with self-doubt. That you think you’re broken. But what you don’t know is that I am, too. And do you know what happens when you put two broken pieces together?” Eliot tugged him close again and Quentin lifted his arms to slide them around Eliot’s waist.

 

“Oh.” Quentin said softly, and Eliot nuzzled his nose into Quentin’s soft, tawny hair.

 

“Precisely.” Eliot pulled back and touched Quentin’s face before reaching down to take his hand. “Come on. Let’s find the end of this thing before the clock strikes midnight and we turn into pumpkins.”

 

Quentin snorted wryly, folding his fingers around Eliot’s as they stepped back into the other corridor. The orange motes danced around them, and then as they turned another corner, they heard laughter and saw the glow of a bonfire at the end of the path. Quentin grinned and tugged at Eliot’s hand.

 

“That’s it! Come on!”

 

They jogged toward the sights and sounds of the other students celebrating, and Quentin breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out. Cheers rose up around them, and Eliot grinned as he took Quentin’s hands.

 

“You were very brave, Martin.”

 

“As were you, Oscar.” Quentin rose up on the front arches of his feet to kiss him. Eliot smiled.

 

“So . . . is Halloween still not your thing?” He asked, and Quentin smiled and leaned into Eliot as they headed back toward the cottage together.

 

“Maybe I could get used to it.”

 

As the celebration by the bonfire continued, a section of hedges parted and three hooded figures stepped out.

 

“Well!” Margo grinned and pushed her hood back. “That was a hell of a lot easier than I thought.”

 

“Told you that nerdboy has been in love with that lush since the day he fucking stepped on campus.” Penny pushed his hood back, rolling his eyes. Margo nodded.

 

“That tiger spell was pretty impressive, I have to admit. Although it was my dementors that finally got him into Eliot’s arms.”

 

“Like those topiary hands didn’t freak him out?” Kady scoffed, pushing back her hood and shaking out her curls. Margo materialized a bottle of merlot into one hand, used a spell to uncork it, and then took a long pull on it before passing it to Penny. He gave her a shrewd look but his dark eyes sparked briefly with humor before he took a drink and passed it to Kady. The bonfire’s flames painted orange streaks on her cheeks as she drank.

 

“In any case, I’d call it mission accomplished.” Margo removed her cloak with a flourish. “Come on, you losers . . . let’s go find a party to crash.”

 

The flames of the bonfire leapt high as a harvest moon rose high over Brakebills, illuminating the maze and the retreating students with a magic all its own.

 

FIN


End file.
